FROM   THE   LIBRARY   Of 


REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D. 


BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY   OF 

PRINCETON   THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


f&4£* 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/memreligOOmart 


rv 


,-> 


V 


JAN  15  1934 


s 


^o 


MEMORIAL,  RELIGIOUS, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 


By    0.    D.    MAKTIN. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PRINTED    BY    HENRY    B.    ASHMEAD 

Nos.  1102  and  1101  Sanson  Street. 

i86a. 


ONE   HUNDRED   AND   FIFTY   COPIES   PRINTED 
FOR   THE   AUTHOR. 


jjtfoiation. 


To  MR.  ALAN  WOOD,  Jr., 

"River  View,"  Conshohocken,  Pennsylvania. 

My  Dear  Friend, — The  pleasure  I  experienced  when  I  beheld  this 
beautifully  printed  volume  (my  first  volume  of  Poems)  was  greatly  enhanced 
by  the  thought,  that  I  could  dedicate  it  to  you.  Our  friendship  has  been  so 
earnest,  so  true,  and  so  real,  so  little  like  the  friendship  of  this  sad  world  of 
ours,  that  whatever  is  of  interest  to  the  one,  is  sure  to  please  and  entertain 
the  other.  Accept  then,  as  a  slight  token  of  my  esteem  and  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  my  gratitude  for  your  many  kindnesses,  this  tribute.  Most  of  the 
poems  you  have  read,  two-thirds  of  them  having  been  published  from  time 
to  time  in  the  Magazines  and  Daily  Newspapers.  Some  of  them  I  had  in- 
tended to  omit  in  this  collection,  but  as  I  shamefully  neglected  them  when 
they  were  first  sent  into  the  world,  and  showed  them  no  countenance  what- 
ever, I  have  concluded  in  my  selfishness,  now  that  they  have  obtained  a 
little  popularity,  to  lay  claim  to  them.  I  know  that  there  is  nothing  par- 
ticularly beautiful  or  remarkable  in  the  volume,  (if  I  except  the  printing, 
which  is  beyond  all  praise),  but  I  am  happy  in  believing,  that  no  matter  how 
indifferent  the  poems  may  appear  to  others,  they  will  always  be  highly 
valued  by  you,  not  especially  for  the  sake  of  the  poetry,  but  because  you 
love  him  who  wrote  it. 

0.  D.  MARTIN. 

pHii.ADEj.rHtA.  April,  1866. 


f  o  nut  §ook. 

Into  the  criticising  world  I  send  thee, 

Without  a  hope  or  home,  without  a  friend, 
(For  few  I  fear  will  ever  dare  befriend  thee), 

To  journey  on,  not  knowing  what  thy  end; 
Perhaps  some  one  a  helping  hand  will  lend  thee, 

Perhaps  some  Bard  will  strain  a  song  for  thee ; 
But  many  more  will  strive  to  tear  or  rend  thee 

Into  a  nothingness —  Who  thinks  of  me  ? 

My  heart  and  soul  are  in  thy  few  short  pages, 
And  though  no  beauty  in  thee  may  be  found, 

And  though  thou  wilt  not  live  in  after  ages, 
Nor  to  a  future  generation  give  a  sound — 

Still  if  'gainst  thee  stern  criticism  rages, 
And  bigots  will  not  choose  to  welcome  thee, 

(For  thou  art  not  from  one  of  Nature's  Sages) 

Thou  wilt  be  welcomed  where  they'd  welcome  me. 


Bright  be  the  place  of  thy  soul ' 

No  lovelier  spirit  than  thine 
E'er  burst  from  its  mortal  control, 

In  the  orbs  of  the  blessed  to  shine. 
On  earth  thou  wert  all  but  divine 

As  thy  soul  shall  immortally  be  ; 
And  our  sorrow  may  cease  to  repine, 

When  we  know  that  thy  God  is  with  thee. 

Light  be  the  turf  of  thy  tomb ! 

May  its  verdure  like  emeralds  be  : 
There  should  not  be  the  shadow  of  gloom 

In  aught  that  reminds  us  of  thee. 
Young  flowers  and  an  evergreen  tree 

May  spring  from  the  spot  of  thy  rest : 
But  nor  cypress  nor  yew  let  us  see  ; 

For  why  should  we  mourn  for  the  blest  ?" 

Byron. 


Ulltt! 


pus  an  %  Death  nf  <6.  i. 

Death  came  upon  me  when  my  heart  was  lightest, 

When  every  joy  was  mine, 
And  bore  away  when  Hope's  bright  star  shone  brightest, 

My  friend  and  thine.* 

The  fairest  flower  that  God  had  ever  given 

The  Angel  claimed  as  his, 
And  blooming  now  in  azure  fields  of  heaven. 

Our  treasure  is. 

Know'st  thou  dear  friend  or  canst  thou  till  the  Jordan 

Fades  on  thy  anxious  eve : 
The  bliss  which  thrilled  the  wanderer  when  her  pardon 

Came  through  the  sky? 

Know'st  thou  my  friend  the  joy  which  smiles  upon  her, 

Now  that  life's  journey's  o'er? 
View'st  thou  the  scenes  of  light  which  open  on  her, 

In  that  blest  shore? 

Philosophy  is  lost  amid  the  hazes 

Which  float  around  the  Throne, 
Mortality  with  earthly  eyes,  but  gazes 

On  night  alone. 

-  These  lines  were  written  in  an  Album  belonging  to  a  friend  of  E.  J. 


12  LEAVES   OF    MEMORY. 

All  further  search  and  knowledge  are  forbidden ; 

The  bliss  beyond  the  skies 
Is  known  to  Angels  only,  and  is  hidden 

From  mortal  eyes. 

Her's  is  the  rapturous  bliss  beyond  all  telling- 
Free  from  all  earthly  care, 

She  rests  securely  in  her  Father's  dwelling 
In  realms  of  air. 

No  grief  can  enter  that  all  cloudless  Aiden, 

On  Jesus'  kindly  breast, 
All  who  are  weary,  worn,  or  heavy  laden, 

Find  quiet  rest. 

Not  by  the  bank  of  yonder  placid  river, 

Nor  yet  in  yonder  grave, 
Her  wearied  Soul  has  fallen  asleep  forever, 

Where  none  can  save  ; — 

No,  not  in  yonder  grave!  e'en  at  the  portal 

It  fled  from  Death's  embrace, 
Threw  off  mortality  and  reigns  immortal, 

Redeemed  by  Grace. 

The  grave  ne'er  held  a  Soul— the  flesh  may  wither, 

And  dust  return  to  dust; 
The  Soul  is  God's,  and  the  Almighty  giver 

Guards  well  His  trust. 

Dear  sainted  Sister,  who  art  gone  before  us, 

I  hear,  I  hear  thy  voice, 
Swelling  its  praise  amid  the  immortal  chorus 

Of  Jesus'  choice. 


\ 


LEAVES   OF    MEMORY.  13 

Oft  in  a  trance,  a  day-dream,  or  a  vision, 

Thy  beauteous  form  I  see, 
Treading  o'er  flowers  in  a  path  Elysian, 

Clothed  wondrously. 

I  know,  no  matter  what  thou  may'st  be  doing, 

Thou'lt  oft  times  think  of  me, 
And  I,  thy  footsteps  thro'  Heaven's  path  pursuing, 

Will  think  of  thee. 

I  know,  though  joys  are  thine  and  bliss  unending, 

I  know  where'er  thou  art, 
Full  many  a  word  of  comfort  thou  art  sending, 

To  cheer  this  heart. 

Thine  is  the  voice  which  whispers  to  me  ever — 

"Trust  and  be  not  afraid  ; 
Trust,  and  the  God  who  leaves  His  children  never, 

Will  see  thee  stayed." 

She  is  not  dead,  nor  lost  unto  us  wholly ; 

Her  influence  and  love 
Speak  to  our  hearts,  and  point  us,  oh !  how  truly, 

To  realms  above. 

Let  us,  my  friend,  heed  every  warning,  given 

In  love  to  us,  by  her — 
Oh,  let  her  be  our  inward  lamp  to  Heaven — - 

Our  monitor. 

Let  us  forsake  this  world  so  false  and  hollow, 

And  tread  the  path  she  trod ; 
Let  us  her  bright  and  blest  example  follow, 

And  turn  to  God. 


1-i  LEAVES    OF    MEMORY. 

Then  in  the  mansion  of  eternal  pleasure, 
When  life's  dread  storm  is  past, 

Seated  by  Christ  and  our  ascended  treasure. 
We'll  rest  at  last. 


LEAVES   OF    MEMOEY.  15 


% 0  &  |. 

(in,  bright  Spirit,  go, 
( >nr  Lord  hath  called  thee  hence, 
A  glori  us  joy  thou  art  to  know — 

A  Crown  thy  recompense. 

Go,  bright  Spirit,  now, 
With  youth's  fresh  flush  upon  the.', 
Ere  care  shall  furrow  deep  thy  brow, 

Or  Winter's  frost  be  on  thee. 

Go,  bright  Spirit,  go. 
Where  partings  are  no  more, 
Where  tears  of  agony  and  woe 

Are  o'er,  forever  o'er. 

Go,  bright  Spirit,  give 
Thy  soul  to  Jesus'  keeping — 
He  suffered  death  that  thou  might 'st  liv< 

Thou  art  not  dead,  but  sleeping. 

Go,  bright  Spirit,  go 
In  all  thy  joyous  seeming, 
Leave,  leave  this  world  of  vice  and  woe, 

This  world  of  empty  dreaming. 

Go,  bright  Spirit,  home 
To  worlds  from  sorrow  free — 
Though  thou  to  me  canst  never  come, 

I,  I  can  go  to  thee. 


16  LEAVES    OF    MEMORY. 


(Our  (Eoiiib. 

The  mirth  and  gladness  of  the  cringed  mu^io-makers  have  seemed  to  me 
to  he  sadly  out  of  place  amid  the  sacred  gloom  which  surrounds  a  grave- 
yard. 

She  rests  by  the  bank  of  a  river, 

My  heart  and  my  life, 
And  the  Robin  Red-Breast 
Builds  his  beautiful  nest 
On  the  branch  of  a  tree 
Which  waves  mournfully 

Over  my  wife. 

The  bird  is  a  bright  little  fellow, 

His  mate's  by  his  side, 
And  amid  the  deep  gloom 
Which  envelops  the  tomb. 
He's  as  happy  and  gay 
As  a  school-boy  at  play — 

But  my  mate  has  died. 

Oh !  my  grave  is  there  by  the  river, 

I'm  buried  there  too — 
So,  Robin,  sing,  sing, 
And  flutter  your  wing, 
Be  merry  and  spry, 
And  my  darling  and  I 
Shall  listen  together, 
And  watch  every  feather 

Fluttering  for  vou. 


LEAVES   OF    MEMORY.  1? 


gt  is  not  fon  Wan  1  am  Mcqmn]. 

It  is  not  for  thee  I  am  weeping, 

It  is  not  for  thee  my  tears  flow, 
Thou  canst  not,  thou  canst  not  be  sleeping 

With  earth  for  thy  pillow — ah !  no. 
A  loved  one  my  heart  fondly  cherished, 

An  Angel  all  spotless  has  flown, 
A  flower  in  blooming  has  perished, 

I  feel,  oh!  I  feel  I'm  alone. 

But  it  is  not  for  thee  I  am  weeping, 
It  is  not  for  thee  my  tears  flow, 

Thou  canst  not,  thou  canst  not  be  sleeping 
With  earth  for  thy  pillow — ah !  no. 

How  I  bitterly  dread  each  to-morrow  ! 

E'en  my  dreams  are  of  trouble  and  pain, 
On  my  heart  is  the  weight  of  deep  sorrow, 

And  the  night-cloud  has  set  on  my  brain. 
In  this  short,  transient  scene — this  ideal, 

This  moment  to  what  is  to  be, 
I  am  missing  a  glorious  real, 

But  it  cannot,  it  cannot  be  thee. 

Oh !  it  is  not  for  thee  I  am  weeping, 
It  is  not  for  thee  my  tears  flow, 

Thou  canst  not,  thou  canst  not  be  sleeping 
With  earth  for  thy  pillow — ah !  no. 


18  LEAVES    OF    MEMORY. 

As  water  in  rock  is  imbedded, 

Thou  wert  grown  in  the  heart  of  my  heart, 
And  we  seemed  so  unchangeably  wedded, 

That  nothing  could  rend  us  apart. 
Thou' wert  mine,  and  I  thine,  and  forever, 

From  each  other  we  could  not  break  free — 
Could  I  live  and  without  thee  ?  ah !  never — 

What  were  life — what  were  hope  without  thee? 

Oh !  it  is  not  for  thee  I  am  weeping, 
It  is  not  for  thee  my  tears  flow, 

Thou  canst  not,  thou  canst  not  be  sleeping 
With  earth  for  thy  pillow — ah !  no. 

Every  joy  of  this  world,  every  pleasure 

Has  vanished  before  me  and  fled, 
For  they  told  me,  thou  all  priceless  treasure, 

It  was  thou,  it  was  thou  who  wert  dead. 
But  each  day  and  each  night  thou'rt  before  me, 

And  in  visions  thy  sweet  face  I  see, 
And  I  rest  with  thy  form  bending  o'er  me, — 

Oh !  it  cannot — it  cannot  be  thee. 

Oh !  it  is  not  for  thee  I  am  weeping, 
It  is  not  for  thee  my  tears  flow, 

Thou  canst  not,  thou  canst  not  be  sleeping 
With  earth  for  thy  pillow — r.h!  no. 


LEAVES   OF    MEMORY.  19 


%  0   <&. 


Alas!  how  little  did  I  dream 

That  I  should  live  to  mourn  for  thee, 

Or  that  this  world  should  ever  seem 
So  drear  and  desolate  to  me  ! 

My  heart  is  buried  in  the  earth, 

Where  calmly  sleeping  thou  dost  lie, 

And  stilled  is  all  my  wonted  mirth, 
And  dim  and  tearful  is  my  eye. 

Thy  joyous,  merry  voice  no  more 

At  evening's  hour  shall  charm  my  ear; 

Thy  heart-felt  welcomings  are  o'er, 

Thy  kindly  words  have  ceased  to  cheer. 

The  hand,  which  fondly  clasped  my  own, 
Is  nerveless  now,  and  turned  to  clay ; 

The  heart,  which  beat  to  mine  alone, 
Has  sweetly  throbbed  thy  life  away. 

All,  all  is  over  now,  and  I 

On  earth  no  more  thy  form  shall  see, 
But  in  a  calmer,  clearer  sky, 

How  blest  shall  our  reunion  be  ! 

Peace  to  thy  dust!     The  spark  has  fled, 
Which  o'er  a  little  world  threw  light ; 

Peace  to  thy  dust !     Thou  art  not  dead, — 
Thy  soul  has  only  ta'en  its  flight  : 


20  LEAVES   OF   MEMORY. 

Its  flight  to  happy  realms  above, 

And  now  where  saints  their  strains  prolong, 
Pours  forth  its  praise  of  Jesus'  love 

In  rapturous,  angelic  song. 

God  gave  thee  to  me,  thou  Bright  Star, 
To  guide  me  to  the  Heavenly  Home; 

And  now  from  thy  calm  world  afar, 

I  hear  thee  calling — "Loved  one,  come." 

My  heart  replies,  and  lays  its  guilt 
At  Jesus'  feet  and  sues  for  grace; — 

"Lord,  thou  canst  pardon,  if  thou  wilt, 
And  every  guilty  stain  efface." 

Soon  shall  the  angel  pass  my  door, 
Soon  shall  He  summon  me  away, 

Soon  shall  this  troubled  night  be  o'er, 
Soon  shall  break  forth  the  cloudless  day  ; 

Soon  shall  I  meet  thee  in  the  skies, 

Soon  shall  I  (purified,  forgiven) 
From  this  dark  vale  of  sorrow  rise 

And  join  thee  in  the  ranks  of  heaven ; 

Soon  in  that  blissful  place  of  rest 
(My  duties  and  my  labors  done) 

We,  who  on  earth  God  more  than  blest 
Shall  be  inseparate  and  one. 


LEAVES   OF    MEMORY.  21 


I  feel  the  weight  and  fearful  sense, 
In  its  most  agonizing  tense, 
Of  utter,  utter  loneliness. 

Oh,  heart!  oh,  heart!  wilt  thou  not  break? 
Must  memoiy  bid  thee  ever  ache  ? 
Is  there  no  balm  in  Lethe's  lake? 

Forgetfulness !  Ah,  blessed  theme ! 
But  when  I  wake  or  when  I  dream, 
My  heart  throbs  sore  with  grief  extreme. 

Oh!  Soother,  Comforter  and  Guide, 
Oh !  ever  gentle,  loving  Bride, 
How  could  stern  death  our  joys  divide? 
Oh!  that  his  dart  had  pierced  my  side, 
And  I  with  thee,  my  life,  had  died! 

God's  messenger  on  earth  to  me; — 
Oh !  what  a  loss  I  have  in  thee  ! 
Where  shall  thy  like,  thy  image  be  ? 

Death  yearned  for  such  a  matchless  gem, 
And  placed  thee  in  his  diadem. 
'Tis  hard  to  say,  and  feel  "Amen." 

Oh,  agony!  oh,  deathful  smart! 
Thou  wert  a  portion  and  a  part, 
An  ingrowth  of  tliif*  bleeding  heart. 


22  LEAVES   OF   MEMORY. 

Grown  with  my  growth  thou  wert,  and  we 
Were  one,  one  indissolubly — 
My  life  in  thine,  and  thine  in  me. 

It  seemed  the  pleasure  of  the  skies 
That  I  should  live  in  thy  bright  eyes 
For  years,  and  know  no  sorrow  rise — 
But  God  has  ordained  otherwise. 

I  view  thee  happy  and  I'm  blest, 
Blest  in  my  misery; — it  is  best; 
Thy  soul's  in  heaven,  at  rest,  at  rest. 

Oh !  mourned,  lamented,  buried  Love  ! 

Be  thou  to  me  the  Spirit-Dove, 

And  bear  the  peace-branch  from  above. 

Bear  to  my  heart  a  heavenly  peace, 
Give  me  from  doubt  a  sweet  release, 
Bid  troublous  fears  and  sorrows  cease. 

Give  me  thy  confidence  in  God ; 
And,  while  I  weep  o'er  thy  grave-sod, 
Teach  me  to  bow  and  kiss  the  rod. 


LEAVES   OP    MEMORY.  23 


%  too  Jittlt  |«rs  gg0. 

Two  little  years  ago, 
Hope  with  her  hand  in  mine 
Journeyed  with  me  among 
Scenes  where  life's  beauties  shine, 
Where  sweetest  songs  are  sung, 

Two  little  years  ago. 

Two  little  years  ago, 
Every  life-promise  bright 
Blossomed  and  bloomed  for  me  ; 
Then,  then  my  heart  was  light, 
Light  as  a  bird's  and  free, 

Two  little  years  ago. 

Two  little  years  ago, 
Bright  eyes  spoke  love  to  mine ; 
All,  all  the  joy  and  bliss 
That  in  the  Saints'  world  shine, 
My  soul  felt  in  this, 

Two  little  years  ago. 

Two  little  years  ago, 
I  lived  and  moved  in  her; 
All  that  I  wished  was  she ; — 
I  was  her  worshiper, 
For  she  was  Heaven  to  me, 

Two  little  years  ago. 


24  LEAVES    OF    MEMORY. 

Two  little  years  ;igo, 
We  took  our  last  embrace — 
Death  was  my  rival  lover, 
And  to  a  far  off  place 
Bore  her,  and  joy  was  over, 

Two  little  years  ago. 

Two  little  years  ago, 
I  knew  my  heart  was  dead, 
Dead,  dead,  within  my  breast ; 
Sad,  bitter  tears  I  shed, 
And  my  grief  knew  no  rest, 

Two  little  years  ago. 


LEAVES   OF    MEMORY.  25 


% k  gottratt. 

Thy  portrait  hangs  before  me  now, 

An  image,  love,  of  thee; 
No  time-marks  on  thy  lovely  brow 

My  gazing  eyes  can  see. 

I  look  on  thy  expressive  face, 
And  find  thy  bright  smile  there, 

And  well  the  Artist's  magic  trace 
Has  browned  thy  lustrous  hair. 

Thy  eve  on  me  still  mildly  beams, 

Thy  lips  are  ope'd  to  speak, 
And  Health's  bright  rose,  it  fairly  seems, 

Is  budding  on  thy  cheek. 

Oh!  when  the  care  of  day  is  o'er, 

And  all  its  trouble  fled, 
I  on  thy  portrait  look  once  more, 

And  think  thou  art  not  dead. 

I  dream  the  picture  has  a  voice, 

I  see,  or  think  I  see, 
The  angel-woman  of  my  choice 

Come  back  to  life  and  me. 

Oh  !  bless  the  counterfeiting  Art 
AVhich  gives  us  form  and  shade, 

The  smile,  the  love-light  from  the  heart, 
Ere  yet  our  dear  ones  fade. 

1 


2G  LEAVES   OF    MEMORY. 

Though  thou  art  gone  from  scenes  of  strife, 

From  sorrow  and  disease, 
I  have  thee  near  me  as  in  life, 

And  thou  wilt  ever  please. 

If  Art  this  triumph  had  not  won, 

And  we  could  never  see 
The  loved  forms  that  the  grave  closed  on, 

I  would  remember  thee. 

For  Love  is  wiser  far  than  x\rt, 

And  he  thy  form  has  traced 
So  plainly,  deeply  on  my  heart, 

It  cannot  be  effaced. 


Thou  irrecoverable  gem, 
That  sparkled  for  a  moment  here 
(Now  sparkling  in  the  heavens  bright), 
How  many  an  unseen,  unknown  tear 
Courses  my  cheek  by  day  and  night, 
Since,  vision-like,  thou  left'st  my  sight ! 
Dost  thou  not  pity  them  ? 


LEAVES   OF    MEMORY.  27 


Mfeere  art  %\a%  geanst,  fo-ni^t? 

Where  art  thou,  dearest,  to-night? 

Where  is  thy  home  in  the  skies? 
Art  thou  the  star  I  see  shining  so  bright, 

Or  is  it  but  one  of  thy  eyes? 

Sometimes  the  heavens  look  dread, 
And  down  upon  earth  falls  the  rain — 

Is  it  not  tears  the  departed  ones  shed 
For  the  lovers  they  sigh  for  in  vain? 

What  dost  thou  do  in  the  sky? 

Where  dost  thou  wander  and  roam? 
Amid  flowers  whose  beauty  and  perfume  ne'er  die 

Have  the  chosen  ones  builded  thy  home? 

Are  the  streams  golden  and  fair? 

Is  the  throne  emerald  all? 
Do  music  and  melody  breathe  in  the  air, 

And  on  thy  ear  endlessly  fall  ? 

Oh !  sweet  is  the  music  of  earth 
From  lips  that  are  loving  and  true, 

But  what  are  our  sweetest  of  melodies  worth, 
Compared  with  the  songs  breathed  by  you  ? 

Brighter  than  any  bright  star 

Shining  most  brightly  this  even, 
Queen  of  the  realm  in  the  region  afar, 

I  sigh  and  I  sigh  for  thy  heaven. 


28  LEAVES   OF    MEMORY. 


feslico,  but  not  broken. 

Crushed,  but  not  broken,  may  I  like  the  flower 

Which  feels  a  wintry  blast, 
Rise  in  the  sunshine  of  a  brighter  hour, 

And  conquer  all  the  Past. 

Conquer  the  Past, — forget  the  scars  Time's  arrow 

Has  left  upon  my  heart ; 
Relive  it  in  my  mind,  but  not  its  sorrow, 

Recall  its  brightest  part. 

Recall  the  holy,  sweet  associations, 

With  those  who  made  life  blest, 
With  her,  the  tenderest  of  all  heart  relations, 

My  faithful  one,  .and  best. 

Faithful !  aye,  matchless  in  her  pure  devotion, 

Unchangeable  and  true; 
With  her  I  would  have  drained  Life's  bitterest  potion, 

And  fought  the  world  anew. 

Fought!  ah!  'tis  terrible  to  fight  Life's  battle 

Friendless,  and  all  alone  : 
We  need  some  sweet  voice  in  the  world's  mad  rattle, 

To  aid,  and  cheer  us  on. 

Partner  of  all  my  joy,  and  all  my  weeping, 

Cheerer  of  Life's  dull  way, 
All  of  Mortality  in  thee  is  sleeping, 

And  hastening  to  decay; 


LEAVES   OF    MEMORY.  29 

But  thy  Immortal,  death-defying  spirit, 

Bursting  through  fleshy  bars, 
Has  reached  the  region  which  the  blest  inherit, 

Above,  beyond  the  stars. 

There  I  may  view  thee  from  my  world  of  sorrow, 

And  hush  all  doubts  and  fears, 
And  comfort  from  this  knowledge  I  oft  borrow, 

And  smile  amid  my  tears. 

I  joy  to  know  I  have  a  friend  in  heaven, 

A  friend  I  lately  pressed 
Close,  close  unto  my  heart, — an  Angel  given 

To  make  me  doubly  blest. 

Doubly,  for  while  on  earth  we  walked  in  pleasure, 

All  blessings  came  through  thee, 
And  now,  in  heaven,  my  brightest,  dearest  treasure 

Is  where  my  heart  should  be. 

Oh!  blessed  one,  to-night  as  I  sit  thinking 

Of  all  my  sorrows  here, 
And  feel  my  spirit  in  my  bosom  sinking, 

With  no  one  nigh  to  cheer  ; — ■ 

My  tears  rush  from  their  founts,  and  I  grow  weary, 

Life's  path  so  rosy  made 
By  thee,  is  thick  with  thorns  and  dark  and  dreary, 

And  I  am  sore  afraid. 

Oh!  leave  to-night  thy  roamings  and  thy  wanderings 

Around  thy  world  of  bliss, 
And  stand  in  holy  presence  o'er  the  ponderings 

Of  inv  sad  soul  in  this. 


30  LEAVES    OF    MEMORY. 

Teach  me  the  Past;  I  will  forget  the  Present, 

Its  longings  and  its  sighs — 
Teach  me  the  Past — it  is  forever  pleasant, 

Its  beauty  never  dies. 

Come  with  thy  crown  and  heavenly  treasures  laden, 

Come  in  thy  robes  of  snow, 
The  spotless,  blood-washed  garments  of  the  maiden 

I  loved  so  long  ago. 

Oh !  take  my  hand  in  spirit,  take  and  lead  me, 

Whisper,  and  I  will  hear; 
Thou  canst  not  tell  how  much,  how  much  I  need  thee 

When  Life  is  dark  and  drear. 

Oh !  I  have  missed  thee,  morning,  noon,  and  even ; 

The  poorest  spot  on  earth 
Was  rich  with  thee,  and  bloomed  into  a  heaven ; 

I  knew  and  felt  thy  worth. 

And  now  the  memory  of  the  days  departed 

Brightens  the  passing  days, 
And  though  my  song  seem  sad  and  broken-hearted, 

It  is  a  song  of  praise. 


LEAVES   OF    MEMORY.  31 


%a  Carrie. 

AT   THE    LAST    MORTAL    MOMENT. 

Sister  !  this  ring  is  thine, 
I  yield  it  with  my  life ; 
It  once  was  hers  who  once  was  mine, 
And  I  had  hoped  would  be  my  wife. 

Take  thou  her  gift  to  me, 

And  keep  it  in  my  stead ; 
For  I  loved  her,  and  she  loved  thee, 
And  thou  should'st  wear  it  when  I'm  dead. 

Ah  !  it  has  had  the  power, 

With  talismanic  art, 
To  brighten  many  a  gloomy  hour,   ' 
And  bring  contentment  to  my  heart. 

I've  gazed  upon  the  ring, 

And  thought  of  her  as  past 
All  mortal  care  and  suffering, 
And  in  her  blissful  home  at  last. 

And  this  has  made  me  glad 

To  know  she  was  at  rest — 
To  know  her  hopes  and  longings  had 
Forever  ceased,  and  she  was  blest. 


32  LEAVES    OF    MEMORY. 

Oh  !  jewel  kindly  given, 

I  yield  thee  with  my  breath  ; 
I'd  have  no  need  of  thee  in  heaven, 
Nor  could  I  use  thee  after  death. 

So,  sister,  take  the  ring, 

And  when  I  cease  to  be, 
I  trust  this  little  golden  thing 
May  cause  thee  oft  to  think  of  me. 


Sang  nf  i\t  ligneous. 

"  The  righteous  shall  be  held  in  everlasting  remembrance." 

Oh  !  King  of  kings  and  Lord  of  lords, 
I'm  happy  in  thy  blessed  words, 
And  my  poor  heart  beats  wild  and  free, 
To  think  thou  wilt  remember  me. 

If  all  we  ask  thee  could  be  given, 
What  could  we  ask  for  more  than  heaven ; 
To  dwell  with  thee  in  realms  above, 
And  see  thy  mercy,  feel  thy  love? 

This  world  were  sad,  oh !  sad  indeed, 
If  thou  would'st  leave  us  in  our  need; 
If  thou  would'st  turn  from  those  who  hate, 
Oh!  what,  kind  Lord,  were  sinner's  fate? 

I  wait  thy  coming,  mighty  God, 
I  long  to  pass  beneath  the  rod, 
I  long  to  sing  in  heaven  thy  praise, 
And  serve  my  Maker  all  my  days. 


36  RELIGIOUS   POETRY. 


#jr!  tojmt  totttr  Care. 

Oh  !  when  with  care  the  sinful  heart 

Is  weary  and  oppressed, 
Go  take  to  God  the  wounded  part 

And  he  will  give  it  rest. 

When  sinners  flee  from  wrath  to  come, 
And  leave  their  wicked  ways, 

God  cheers  them  from  his  heavenly  home, 
And  keeps  them  all  their  days. 

Let's  fix  our  hearts  on  God  alone, 

Who  in  the  day  of  care 
Looks  kindly  from  his  heavenly  throne, 

And  points  his  children  there. 


RELIGIOUS    POETRY.  37 


Whilst  Iliow  art  bg. 

Whilst  thou  art  by  I  shall  not  need, 
I  shall  through  thee  be  saved  indeed ; 
Within  the  dismal  paths  of  Death, 
When  thou  art  by  I  draw  my  breath. 

Oh !  when  my  soul  has  fled  away, 
And  left  this  worthless  mass  of  clay, 
May  I  in  thee  a  refuge  find 
To  soothe  my  heart  and  ease  my  mind. 

Death  hath  no  terrors  when  we  know 
God  has  the  Keys  of  Hell  below ; 
Oh !  happy  Death,  twice  blessed  to  me, 
For  by  it  I  can  come  to  thee. 

Thou  art  the  Kock  on  which  we  stand, 
The  guide  to  lead  us  to  thy  land ; 
Oh !  all  would  happy,  happy  be, 
If  all  would  put  their  trust  in  thee. 

April  20,  1858. 


38  RELIGIOUS    POETRY. 


<$lakc,  mjj  Soul. 

Wake,  my  soul,  thy  night  is  over, 
And  thy  morning  dawns  at  last, 

Wake,  for  angels  o'er  thee  hover, 
Offering  pardon  for  the  past. 

Wake,  thy  future  is  before  thee; 

Pray  to  God  by  day  and  night, 
And  the  sins  which  now  hang  o'er  thee 

Will  be  pardoned  by  his  might. 

Wake,  for  God  is  no  deceiver, 
He  is  speaking  through  the  sky, 

Wake,  thou  piteous  unbeliever, 
Or  thou  shalt  forever  die. 

Wake,  oh  wake,  why  art  thou  sleeping, 
When  thou  should'st  be  on  thy  guard, 

When  thou  should'st  a  watch  be  keeping, 
For  the  coming  of  the  Lord? 

Wake,  and  sleep  no  more,  thou  dreamer, 
God  is  calling  through  the  sky; — 

Hear  the  words  of  thy  Redeemer, — 
"Wake  from  sin  or  thou  shalt  die." 

Wake,  oh  wake,  thy  night  is  over, 
And  thy  morning  dawns  at  last, 

Wake,  for  angels  o'er  thee  hover, 
With  redemption  for  the  pa?t. 


RELIGIOUS    POETRY.  39 


®0  If]ef,  mj|  Sabionr. 

To  thee,  my  Saviour  and  my  King, 

I  humbly  bow  my  head, 
Repentance  to  thee,  Lord,  I  bring, 

For  wicked  ways  I've  led. 

Oh !  wilt  thou  turn  thy  face  from  me, 
And  frown  from  out  thy  heaven  ? 

I  ask  for  pardon,  Lord,  of  thee, 
And  pray  to  be  forgiven. 

I've  darkly  sinned  and  scorned  thy  love, 
But  hear  me  while  I  pray; — 

Look  kindly  from  thy  throne  above, 
And  wipe  my  tears  away. 

My  wicked  heart  is  sore  with  sin, 

I'm  weary  and  oppressed ; 
Oh!  cleanse  each  blackened  part  within, 

And  take  me  to  thy  breast. 

Oh!  let  me  lean  upon  thy  form. 

For  near  thee  I'm  secure ; 
I'd  sheltered  be  from  every  storm, 

From  every  thought  impure. 

When  thou  art  near  my  heart  is  strong, 
But  weak  when  from  thy  sight : 

Oh!  keep  me,  Lord,  from  every  wrong, 
And  lead  me  in  the  right. 


40  RELIGIOUS    POETEY. 

Watch  o'er  me,  Lord,  by  night  and  day, 
Let  e'en  my  thoughts  be  good — 

Oh !  wash  my  many  sins  away, 
And  cleanse  me  with  thy  blood. 

Take  from  my  breast  this  stony  heart, 
It  weighs  my  spirit  down ; 

Oh!  let  me  live  to  wear  a  part 
Of  thine  immortal  crown. 


RELIGIOUS   TOETRY.  41 


"  Blessed  are  ye  when  men  shall  revile  you." 

Take  up  the  cross — let  men  revile, 
What  care  you  for  their  frown  or  smile? 
If  you  in  Virtue's  robes  are  clad, 
Rejoice  and  be  exceeding  glad. 

Take  up  the  cross — let  all  men  see 
You  love  the  Lord,  and  fearlessly; 
Though  men  your  earthly  ties  have  riven, 
They  cannot  mar  your  peace  in  heaven. 

Take  up  the  cross, — the  course  you  choose 
Is  just,  you  gain,  you  cannot  lose: 
You  gain  a  Life  that  never  dies, 
A  Home  eternal  in  the  skies. 

Take  up  the  cross,  for  life  is  brief, 
And  death  in  sin  is  endless  grief; 
For  mortal  man  can  never  tell 
The  endless  misery  of  hell. 

Take  up  the  cross — if  you  have  trod 
The  narrow  way,  and  walked  with  God, 
Death  is  to  you  a  blessed  thing, 
It  brings  you  bliss  without  a  sting. 

Take  up  the  cross,  and  love  your  God, 
And  pass  beneath  the  chastening  rod, 
And  God  will  meet  you  in  the  skies, 

To  give  you  life  that  never  dies. 
6 


42  RELIGIOUS   POETRY. 


(the  JUuahcning. 

Sound  the  glad  tidings  from  nation  to  nation, 
And  let  the  earth  joyfully,  fearlessly  ring, 

For  the  Gospel  is  spreading  from  station  to  station, 
And  Jesus  is  reigning,  our  Saviour  is  King. 

On  the  light  wings  of  mercy,  Eeligion  is  coming, 
Our  once  darkened  prospects  look  bright  to  the  eye, 

For  the  sinner  who  far  from  his  Maker  was  roaming, 
Is  repenting  his  sins  ere  God  calls  him  to  die. 

The  good  work  is  spreading,  our  prayers  are  bringing 
Sad  souls  to  Christ's  banner,  new  lambs  to  the  fold, 

And  the  angels  in  heaven  are  joyfully  singing, 

And  nature  seems  glad  the  great  change  to  behold. 

Go  teach  the  Gospel,  the  Word,  and  our  Saviour, 
Forgiving  your  foes  as  you  would  be  forgiven, 

Go  teach  the  heathen  their  evil  behavior, 

And  Jesus  will  bless  you  and  join  you  in  heaven. 


RELIGIOUS    TOETRY.  43 


(But  Sabiour's  OMl. 

"Come  to  me,  tliou  mourning  sinner, 
Lay  aside  each  care  and  fear, 
I  will  take  thee  to  my  bosom, 
I  will  wipe  away  each  tear." 

"Come  to  me,  thou  broken-hearted, 
I  will  heal  thy  burning  grief, 
Bring  the  balm  of  soothing  nature, 
Give  thy  saddened  soul  relief." 

"Come  to  me,  thou  darling  orphan, 
Weeping  for  a  parent's  love, 
Come,  I'll  be  thy  fond  protector, 
From  the  realms  of  bliss  above." 

"  Come  to  me,  grief-stricken  widow, 
Do  no  longer  walk  astray, 
Come,  and  I  will  gladly  bless  thee, 
I  will  wash  thy  sins  away." 

Thus  it  is  our  Lord  is  calling 

Us  to  an  eternal  bliss, 
Offering  us  a  heavenly  mansion 

For  a  wicked  world  like  this. 

Who  will  seek  this  blissful  dwelling  ? 

'Tis  for  you,  for  me,  for  all ; 
Listen  while  our  Lord  is  calling, 

He  may  one  day  cease  to  call. 


44  RELIGIOUS    POETRY. 


)t. 


Oh  !  happy  he  who  puts  his  trust 
In  God  who  dwells  on  high, 

Who  seeks  eternal  happiness, 
And  Life  which  cannot  die. 

Who  sees  to-morrow,  not  to-day, 
Or  fleeting  pleasures  here, 

And  looks  into  his  future  life 
Without  a  sign  of  fear. 

With  God  his  pilot,  safe  his  bark 
Rides  o'er  life's  stormy  sea, 

And  happily  he  gains  the  shore 
Of  sweet  eternity. 

All  worldly  cares  and  tears  are  past, 
From  sin  and  sorrow  free, 

He  joins  the  Angels  in  a  life 
Of  immortality. 

And  joyously  he  sings  his  praise, 
To  God  who  dwells  above, 

And  happy  is  he  all  his  days 
'Mid  scenes  of  peace  and  love. 


RELIGIOUS    POETRY.  45 


«'s  Job*. 

Ah  !  who  is  He  who  softens  care, 

And  to  the  weary  breast 
Brings  gentle  words  and  balmy  air, 

To  soothe  it  into  rest? 

And  who  is  He  who  sits  on  high, 
To  rule  the  earth  and  sea, 

And  lets  our  many  faults  pass  by 
Unkept  in  memory? 

Who  pardons  and  forgives  us  all, 
When  we  in  meekness  go  ; — 

When  at  His  feet  we  kneeling  fall, 
Who  gently  soothes  our  woe? 

Who  brings  a  balm  to  aching  hearts, 

Who  heals  the  widow's  grief, — 
Who  happiness  to  all  imparts, 
Who  gives  to  all  relief? 

Ah!  mourner,  in  this  "vale  of  tears,' 
'Tis  God  will  ease  thy  breast, 

'Tis  God  will  hush  thy  many  fears, 
And  give  thee  lasting  rest. 


4G  RELIGIOUS    rOETRY. 


^Ije  gcunion. 

We'll  meet  again,  we'll  meet  again, 

Our  sorrows  will  be  o'er, 
We'll  have  no  care  or  trouble,  when 

We're  on  that  happy  shore. 

All  will  be  happiness  and  bliss ; 

Our  souls  to  God  are  given, — 
For  other  realms  we'll  give  up  this, 

And  join  our  Lord  in  heaven. 

We'll  meet  again,  we'll  meet  again, 
Our  heart-aches  will  be  o'er, 

And  free  from  care,  and  free  from  pain, 
We'll  rest  for  evermore. 

Oh,  bless  the  day  that  calls  us  hence, 
When  earthly  ties  are  riven, 

For  joy  shall  be  our  recompense, 
Our  home  shall  be  in  heaven. 


1858. 


RELIGIOUS    POETRY.  47 


gcal  hinbltr  toitjj  ft  I]g  Scrbant. 

Deal  kindly  with  thy  servant,  Lord, 
That  I  may  live  and  keep  thy  word; 
Lord,  ope  my  eyes,  that  I  may  see 
What  is  my  duty,  Lord,  to  thee. 

Thou  Saviour  of  the  good  and  just, 
In  thee,  great  King,  I  put  my  trust; 
To  serve  thee  all  my  days  I'll  try, 
And  be  prepared  when  death  is  nigh. 

I  long  to  be  with  God  above, 
And  dwell  in  mercy,  peace,  and  love ; 
To  hear  the  angels  sweetly  sing 
Their  praises  to  the  mighty  King. 

Then,  Lord,  have  pity,  stand  thou  near, 
When  thou  art  by' I've  naught  to  fear; 
Unto  thy  care  I'll  yield  my  breath, 
And  feel  secure  in  life  or  death. 


1858. 


48  RELIGIOUS    POETRY. 


Christ  is  gistn. 

Exult,  exult  and  sing 

Songs  of  love  and  grace, 
Jesus  is  our  Saviour  King, 

And  heaven  his  dwelling-place. 

He's  risen  from  the  dead, 
He  comes  the  world  to  save ; 

Oh !  sleeping  sinner,  raise  thy  heart, 
Be  ready  for  the  grave. 

He  calls,  he  calls  to  thee, 

From  out  his  home  in  heaven, 

"Oh!  sleeping  sinner,  come  to  me, 
And  have  thy  sins  forgiven." 

And  wilt  thou  mock  his  word, 
And  still  with  sinners  live? 

Oh!  no,  go  freely  to  the  Lord, 
He  will  thy  sins  forgive. 


RELIGIOUS    POETRY.  40 


(tad)  injur  is  btari. 

God  hears  each  prayer,— the  little  child 
Is  heard  by  God  upon  his  throne, 

And  as  it  prays  in  accents  mild, 
God  gladly  claims  it  as  his  own. 

And  when  the  strong  man  bows  his  headj 
Or  weeps  a  sad,  repentant  tear, 

Or  mourns  the  wicked  ways  he's  led, 
God  stoops  his  aching  heart  to  cheer. 

Or  if  the  heart  is  full  of  grief, 
And  cannot  name  its  sorrows  o'er, 

God  gives  that  burdened  heart  relief, 
And  makes  it  lighter  than  before. 

Come,  sinner,  come,  nor  let  thy  doom 
Of  everlasting  woe  be  sealed, 

Come,  ere  they  close  the  silent  tomb. 
And  all  thv  sorrows  shall  be  healed. 


50  RELIGIOUS    POETRY. 


Me  mt,  f  orb. 

Take  me,  Lord,  and  make  me  thine, 
Let  me  walk  within  thy  sight, 

In  this  darkened  heart  of  mine, 
Dark  with  error,  "be  there  light." 

Take  me,  Lord,  and  let  thy  mild, 

Gentle  spirit  in  me  reign, 
Make  me  humble  as  a  child, 

Teach  me  to  be  born  again. 

Take  me,  Lord,  and  watch  my  way, 
Be  through  life  my  friend  and  guide, 

I  can  never  go  astray, 

If  I  have  thee  by  my  side. 

Take  me,  Lord,  my  heart  is  young, 
Young  in  truth,  but  old  in  sin, 

Be  thou  guardian  of  my  tongue, — 
Oh!  be  thou  my  light  within. 

Take  me,  Lord,  and  give  me  Faith, 

Faith  which  trusts  and  knows  not  fear, 

Make  me  conqueror  of  Death 

And  the  grave  and  all  things  here. 

Take  me,  Lord, — thy  way  is  best, 

I  will  follow,  if  thou  lead; 
With  thee  I  am  richly  blest, 

But  without  thee,  poor  indeed. 

February,  18G4. 


RELIGIOUS   POETRY.  51 


f  raise  U  $o&. 

With  heart  and  soul  let's  sing  our  praise 

To  God  who  dwells  above, 
For  if  we  serve  him.  all  our  days, 

He'll  keep  us  in  his  love. 

And  when  we  die,  as  die  we  must, 
And  from  the  world  are  driven, 

Although  our  bodies  may  be  dust, 
Our  souls  shall  be  in  heaven. 


1858. 


52  RELIGIOUS    rOETRY. 


%\n  <£nb  of  all  firings. 

Flowers  which  now  are  blooming, 
All  the  earth  perfuming 

With  their  fragrant  breath, 
Soon  shall  fade  and  wither 

At  the  touch  of  Death. 

Babes  which  now  are  laughing, 
Pleasure's  sweetness  quaffing, 

Soon  shall  pass  away, 
And  in  graves  shall  moulder 

Into  useless  clay. 

Youth,  which  knows  no  sorrow, 
Thinks  not  of  the  morrow, 

With  ambition  high, 
Shoots  the  flying  eagle, 

Aims  e'en  to  the  sky. 

But  the  great  Destroyer 
Death,  Ambition's  spoiler. 

Blasts  it  in  the  bloom, 
And  with  Youth  hopes  wither 

In  the  dismal  tomb. 

But  the  hope  of  Heaven, 
To  us  all  is  given, 

And  we've  naught  to  fear, 
When  our  bodies  perish, 

God  our  soul?  will  cheer. 


RELIGIOUS    POETRY.  53 

And  when  Life  is  over, 
Sorrows  will  not  hover 

O'er  our  happy  hearts, 
But  the  kiss  of  Heaven 
For  Life's  wounds  is  given, 

And  Life's  care  departs. 

Though  each  friend  should  perish, 
Though  each  hope  we  cherish 

Feels  a  crushing  blast, 
Still  our  God  is  with  us 

Changeless  to  the  last. 


Jftfealltt 


^miattmu  ai  Wn\m$an'&  |trt^»g. 


Arouse  !  arouse !  ye  citizens, 

And  hail  the  blessed  morn 
When  the  Father  of  his  country, 

When  our  Washington  was  born. 

His  deeds,  his  worthy,  noble  deeds, 

Alone  proclaim  his  worth, 
And  render  him  immortal  with 

The  purest  ones  of  earth. 

Rome  tells  us  of  a  Caesar, 

Of  his  warlike  deeds  and  fame, 

But  she  never  had  a  Washington — 
Grod  bless  his  noble  name. 

Our  country's  Father  still  shall  live 
In  every  freeman's  breast, 

And  on  our  History's  pages  stand, 
Of  all  true  men  the  best. 

That  name  so  welcome  to  his  friends, 

So  feared  by  all  his  foes, 
Will  live  when  all  things  mortal  shall 

Have  sunk  in  calm  repose. 
8 


58  MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 

When  time  itself  shall  be  extinct, 
And  naught  of  earth  remain, 

Eternity  will  catch  the  theme, 
And  dwell  upon  his  name. 

The  fame  of  kings  and  queens  will  sink 

Before  oblivion's  grasp, 
But  time  shall  bear  our  Washington's 

Triumphant  to  the  last. 

What  would  we  be  but  England's  slaves, 

But  subjects  of  a  crown, 
Had  not  our  noble  Washington 

Put  Tyrant's  power  down  ? 

Had  not  our  Washington  rose  up, 
The  freeman's  wrongs  to  right, 

And  teach  to  every  English  heart, 
How  fiercely  freemen  fight? 

Oh  !  could  we  but  appreciate 

His  merit  and  his  zeal, 
We'd  sing  his  praise  in  anthems  which 

Each  Englishman  could  feel. 

Our  Washington  with  untried  men, 
Put  England's  power  down, 

Prostrated  at  our  Eagle's  feet, 
The  famous  British  crown. 

The  English  lion  bowed  to  him, 
On  Yorktown's  battle-plain, 

And  learned  by  heart  a  lesson  which 
He'll  not  wish  taught  again. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY.  59 

At  Monmouth,  all !  that  bloody  spot, 

He  sliow'd  his  wisdom  too, 
And  planted  there  our  country's  flag, 

The  red,  the  white  and  blue. 

He  needs  no  monumental  pile, 

To  tell  his  worthy  fame, 
And  patriot  hearts  will  think  of  him, 

As  one  exempt  from  blame. 

As  one  who  cheered  the  soldier's  heart 

In  sickness  or  in  grief, 
As  one  who  to  a  wounded  man 

Brought  ready,  kind  relief. 

'Twas  Liberty  unsheathed  his  sword, 

But  no  disgraceful  stain 
Was  on  that  blade  when  he  returned 

It  to  its  sheath  again. 

He  took  no  life  which  he  could  save, 

He  did  not  fight  for  fame ; 
He  drew  his  sword  for  country's  good, 

And  won  a  noble  name. 

He  saved  our  country  from  disgrace, 

He  broke  our  country's  chains  ; 
And  we  will  never  cease  to  think 

Of  him  while  life  remains. 

We'll  bless  him  with  our  dying  breath, 

And  time  will  in  its  flight 
Remember  him  who  brought  a  morn 

On  Freedom's  darkest  night. 


60  MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY. 

Eemember  him  to  whom  all  good, 
All  virtue  here  was  given ; 

Who  loved  his  country  next  his  God, 
His  Master,  God  in  heaven. 


MISCELLANEOUS   TOETRY.  61 


%ty  gging  BaMtx. 

On  the  battle's  bloody  plain, 

Where  both  young  and  old  were  slain, 

Where  the  wounded  writhed  with  pain, 

A  soldier  dying  lay; 
His  lamp  of  life  was  failing  fast, 
Long  looked  for  death  had  come  at  last, 
But  ere  he  died,  one  thought  he  cast 

On  friends  then  far  away. 

A  loving  comrade  at  his  side, 

In  gentle  kindness  stayed  the  tide 

Of  red  blood  gushing  in  its  pride 

From  him  so  soon  to  die ; 
And  wiping  from  his  eye  a  tear, 
He  bent  a  fond,  attentive  ear, 
To  catch  the  words  he  wished  to  hear, 

For  none  save  him  were  by. 

At  length  the  soldier  raised  his  head, 
He  looked  around,  he  saw  the  dead ; — 
"  Ah!  comrade,  soon  I'll  be,"  he  said, 

"With  those  who  lie  around; 
This  useless  dust  to  dust  return, 
This  aching  heart,  will  cease  to  burn, 
This  soul,  an  earthly  grave  will  spurn, 

My  bones  rest  in  the  ground." 


62  MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY. 

"But  ere  my  senses  pass  away, 
Oh,  list,  kind  comrade !  list,  I  pray, 
And  bear  a  message  far  away, 

To  her  I  mourn  to  blast : 
Tell  her  though  floods  rolled  deep  between, 
And  years  have  fled  since  we  have  seen 
Each  other,  still  to  her  I've  been 

True,  changeless  to  the  last. 

"And  tell  my  darling  not  to  weep, 
For  him  who  sleeps  his  long,  last  sleep, 
For  him  who  sleeps  Death's  slumber,  deep, 

As  the  black  clouds  of  even; 
Tell  her  though  we  shall  meet  no  more 

O 

On  earth,  and  my  fond  hope  is  o'er, 
I  point  the  way — I  go  before, 

We'll  join  our  hearts  in  heaven. 

"Bear  message  for  me  to  another — 

I  have  no  father,  sister,  brother, 

But  oh !  my  loved,  my  widowed  mother, — - 

Speak  kindly  of  her  son ; — 
I  was  her  only,  dearest  pride ; 
Tell  her  that  you  were  at  my  side, 
And  heard  me  bless  her  ere  I  died, 

Oft  bless  her  ere  Death  won. 

"  Tell  her,  though  pale  had  grown  my  cheek, 
And  fever  made  me  worn  and  weak, 
Still,  still  her  son  essayed  to  speak, 

To  struggle  forth  her  name ; — 


MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY.  63 

Tell  her  stern  Death  my  fate  has  sealed, 
Tell  her  our  country  won  the  field, 
Tell  her  we  forced  the  foe  to  yield, 
To  fly  from  us  in  shame. 

"Now  spread  our  flag,  and  let  me  see 
Its  colors  float  triumphantly, 
Proclaiming  joy  and  liberty 

And  peace  to  all  the  land; 
Now  gently,  comrade,  rest  my  head 
Upon  some  mossy,  flowery  bed, 
My  body  soon  will  join  the  dead, 

My  soul,  the  Angel  band." 

His  comrade  sadly  drew  him  near 

A  spot  beside  a  shady  tree, 

Where  he  the  sweetest  soncrs  could  hear 

o 

Of  singing  bird  and  humming  bee. 
And  ere  the  Lily  drooped  its  head, 
The  wounded  warrior  was  dead. 


64  MISCELLANEOUS    POETEY. 


fines  on  tire  geatjr  of  (Cllstoortb. 

We  have  received  many  poetical  tributes  to  the  memory  of  the  lamented 
young  soldier,  so  early  removed — so  worthy  of  being  held  in  honor  and  re- 
membrance. The  following,  which  has  reached  us  with  the  signature  of  M. 
D.  0.,  possesses  considerable  merit. — Dr.  R.  Shclton  Mackenzie,  Philadelphia 
Press. 

"  Immortal  be  the  memory  of  Ellsworth." — Dougherty. 

Immortal  !  yes !  thy  name  shall  stand 
Enrolled  among  a  hero  band  ; 
And  in  each  Freeman's  heart  shall  be 
A  deathless  memory  of  thee. 

Immortal !     Does  a  Patriot  die 
AVhen  stops  his  breath,  when  dims  his  eye — 
When  fame  begins,  and  Glory's  star 
Shines  brightly  o'er  the  field  of  war  ? 

Immortal !  William  Jasper's  name 
Shall  be  less  deathless  than  thy  fame. 
On  Moultrie's  walls  he  placed  our  flag — 
Thou  hast  torn  down  Disunion's  Rag. 

Immortal !     Though  God  stop  his  breath, 
A  Patriot  is  exempt  from  death. 
He  cannot  die — death  has  no  claim 
On  him  who  bears  a  Patriot's  name. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY.  65 

Immortal !     When  this  strife  is  o'er, 
And  Treason  braves  the  field  no  more, 
Thy  name  shall  be  with  honor  sung 
From  every  lip,  from  every  tongue. 

Immortal !     Though  thy  voice  no  more 
Shall  cheer  thy  soldiers  as  of  yore — 
Though  thy  brave  band  shall  mourn  their  dear, 
Lost,  murdered  chief  with  many  a  tear ; — 

Immortal  thou — like  him  of  old, 
Whose  glorious  fall  our  Halleck  told 
In  words  which  moisten  many  an  eye — 
Like  him,  "  thou  wert  not  bom  to  die." 


May  2G,  1861. 


66  MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 


(On  th  gratb  of  i]Uss . 

In  the  bloom  of  her  youth,  in  the  gay,  laughing  hours, 

When  life  was  a  vision,  all  pleasure  and  dream, 
When  the  path  that  she  trod   on  was  covered  with 
flowers, 

And  Hope  shed  around  her  its  brightening  beam  ; 
Ere  the  ills  of  humanity  darkened  her  stay, 

Ere  the  cares  of  this  world  marred  her  spirit's  young 
bloom, 
This  heavenly  flower  from  earth  flew  away, 

And  the  form  that  we  worshiped  we  laid  in  the  tomb. 

Ere  sin  had  polluted  a  blossom  so  fair, 

Ere  the  world  and  its  treasures  profaned  her, 
She  flew  to  the  valley  and  region  of  air, 

For  the  cold  arm  of  Death  had  enchained  her. 
With  a  smile  on  her  lip,  and  a  light  in  her  eye, 

She  willingly  parted  with  father  and  mother, 
And  she  said  not  a  word,  and  she  breathed  not  a  sigh, 

As  her  soul  left  this  world  for  the  bliss  of  another. 

With  the  angels  she  sings  in  that  Eden  above, 

In  that  bright,  happy  region  of  pleasure  and  bliss, 
And  she  drinks  of  the  fountain  of  Mercy  and  Love, 

In  a  land  which  is  better,  far  better  than  this. 
Would  you  welcome  her  back,  if  she  flew  from  her  joy, 

To  this  land  which  is  sullied  with  sorrow  and  pain  ? 
Having  tasted  of  pleasure  unmixed  with  alloy, 

She  could  never  be  happy  in  this  world  again. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY.  67 


I l]t  ©nig  faugbtcr. 

A  mother  had  a  lovely  child, 

A  little  girl  of  seven  ; 
She  loved  it  with  a  love  so  wild, 
She'd  not  have  parted  with  that  child 

For  all  the  wealth  of  Heaven. 

Her  sole,  supremest,  dearest  joy 

Was  centered  in  that  creature ; 
She  loved  her  better  than  her  boy, 
And  thought  that  Death  would  ne'er  destroy 
One  portion  of  her  feature. 

But  we  are  weak,  and  God  is  strong, 

The  tyrant,  Death,  soon  sought  her  ; 
He  snatched  the  one  she'd  cherished  long, 
The  one  she'd  loved  too  deep,  too  strong, 
Bereft  her  of  her  daughter. 

They  laid  her  in  her  last  low  bed, 

And  not  a  word  was  spoken  ; 
But  we  have  often  heard  it  said, 
The  mother  glanced  once  on  the  dead, 

And  then  her  heart  was  broken. 


68  MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY. 


(On  tire  tlwtb  of  Bliss 


Soft  winds  were  sighing, 

And  roses  were  dying, 
And  cheeks  were  as  pale  as  if  touched  with  Death's 
kiss, 

For  friends  broken-hearted, 

Wept  o'er  the  departed, 
Whose  soul  had  ascended  to  regions  of  bliss. 

Who  knows  the  sorrow, 

When  each  weary  morrow 
Renews  the  sad  longings  that  yesterday  knew  ; 

When  each  heart  has  striven, 

To  put  faith  in  Heaven, 
But  fears  it  is  more  than  a  mortal  can  do  ? 

When  brothers  and  sisters, 

In  sad,  broken  whispers 
Speak  love  of  the  one  who  has  fled  to  her  home  ; 

When  sister  and  brother 

Embrace  one  another, 
And  pray  that  the  Comforter  hastening  will  come  ? 

Who  knows  the  sorrow, 

When  care  seems  to  borrow 
Each  trust  which  will  doubtless  add  misery  and  pain  ; 

When  hearts  are  all  broken, 

And  each  word  that's  spoken 
Brings  sad,  sad  remembrances  into  the  brain  '.' 


MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY.  69 

All !  the  soul's  quiver, 

As  over  the  river 
Of  Death  and  of  Darkness  it  fearfully  goes, 

And  aching  with  sadness, 

And  hopeful  to  madness, 
It  sinks  in  Eternity's  dreadful  repose. 

Ah  !  life  with  its  flowers, 

Its  bright  sunny  hours, 
Its  bloom  and  its  blossom  must  wither  and  fade, 

And  friends  whom  we  cherish, 

Must  sicken  and  perish, 
And  in  the  cold  churchyard  in  sorrow  be  laid. 

But  God  has  a  heaven, 

For  those  who  have  striven 
To  bear  with  their  sorrow,  to  joy  at  their  pain ; 

And  when  death  shall  linger, 

A  bright  Angel's  finger 
Will  point  them  to  regions  where  blessed  spirits  reign. 


70  MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 


(Dn  tlje  gcatjr  of  George  Wi.  Mooa. 

Farewell,  old  friend,  when  last  I  clasped 

Thy  hand  in  friendship's  dear  embrace, 
I  little  thought  I  never  more 

Should  gaze  upon  thy  living  face  ; 
I  little  thought  that  Death  would  seize 

A  gem  of  such  a  priceless  worth, 
Or  wilt  a  flower  which  just  had  bloomed 

To  beautify  and  bless  the  earth. 

How  could  I  think  that  thou  would'st  die, 

In  years  so  young,  in  hope  so  new, 
Or  deem  I  took  a  last  farewell 

Of  him  so  gentle,  kind,  and  true? 
God  marked  thee  for  his  own,  and  took 

The  one  from  us  which  he  had  given, 
He  deemed  thee  all  too  bright  for  earth, 

And  claimed  thee  for  himself  in  heaven. 

We  mourn  thy  loss,  but  know  that  thou 

Art  happier  far  'mid  scenes  above, 
Than  here,  where  death  must  blast  each  hope, 

And  fear  walks  hand  in  hand  with  love. 
Farewell,  old  friend,  we'll  meet  no  more 

'Mid  sceneo  which  are  as  dark  as  this, 
But  on  that  everlasting  shore 

Where  life  is  an  eternal  bliss. 


MISCELLANEOUS    FOETRY.  71 


Ib  a  Stoilrcr  on  %  f  ass  of  Ijcr  Daughter. 

Cease  thy  weeping,  doating  mother, 

She,  so  loved,  is  happy  now, 
Life's  long  pain  and  sorrow  over, 

She  is  happier  than  thou. 

Ere  life's  day  had  past  the  morning, 

Ere  she  sunk  to  sin  a  prey, 
Love  of  God  her  heart  adorning, 

She,  thy  loved  one,  passed  away. 

An  Angel's  crown  to  her  is  given, 

And  she  is  led  through  paths  of  bliss ; 

Oh !  would'st  thou  have  her  give  up  heaven 
For  such  a  dread  abode  as  this ; — 

And  bring  her  back  to  sigh  and  mourn 
For  what  she  never  could  regain  ? 

Oh!  mother,  pray  her  not  return, 
Or,  rather  pray  her  to  remain. 


72  MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 


12  gbtpq. 

Ah  !  many  a  night  and  many  a  morn 
Have  come  and  passed  since  I  was  born  ; 
And  many  a  pleasant  hour  lias  fled, 
And  many  a  friend  I  loved  is  dead, 

Since  first  I  trod  this  varied  scene, 
Since  first  I  saw  fond  hopes  decay, 

Since  first  in  paths  of  love  I've  been 
And  saw,  alas  !  love  pass  away. 
And  oft  my  aching  heart  will  sink 
When  on  the  Past  I  chance  to  think ; 
When  I  look  back  on  moments  fled, 
And  ponder  on  the  life  I've  led, 

My  heart  within  my  breast  will  weep, 
And  on  my  great  transgressions  pause, 

For  I  have  had  transgressions  deep, 
And  wandered  oft  from  Virtue's  laws. 
I've  had  fond  friends,  but  they  have  flown, 
And  now  I  tread  this  world  alone  ; 
But  without  friends,  I  blessed  would  be, 
Were  I  from  sin  and  sorrow  free. 
For  sin  breeds  sorrow,  how  else  foil 
On  man  the  misery  of  Hell  ? 
Sorrow  is  child  of  sin,  and  God 
Rewards  or  punishes  as  we  have  trod 
The  ways  of  sin  or  virtue's  ways, 
As  we  have  lived  and  spent  our  days. 


MISCELLANEOUS    TOETRY.  ( 

Though  years  have  passed  since  first  I  knew 

The  poignant  grief, — the  body's  pain, 
I  found  that  life  had  pleasures  too, 
I've  felt  it  o'er  and  o'er  again. 
And  oft  I  think  we  mope  and  fret, 
When  we  deserve  not  half  we  get. 
Now  when  a  year  has  passed  away, 
I  mean  a  year  from  this  Birthday, 
I  trust  that  time  will  find  me  then 
As  pure  and  innocent  as  when 

My  mother  danced  me  on  her  knee, 

And  gently  stroked  my  baby  hair ; 
Or  sang  sweet  little  songs  to  me, 
And  I  was  free  from  sin  and  care ; 
And  oh  !  may  no  succeeding  year, 
Bring  me  a  cause  to  shed  a  tear. 


10 


MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 


Huberts  anb  grille. 


She  lived  in  an  humble  cot, 

A  maid  of  high  degree, 
And  many  knew  her  not, 

For  very  poor  Avas  she. 

The  proud  heart  came  not  there, 
The  haughty  passed  her  by, 

For  little  did  they  care 
For  such  as  her,  and  why  ? 

They  knew  that  she  was  poor, 
But  little  else  they  knew ; 

Of  those  who  passed  her  door 
There  entered  in  but  few. 

Her  mother  late  had  died, 
Her  father  sick  was  laid, 

And  oft,  and  oft  she  cried 

"There's  none  to  help  this  maid ;- 

"Oh,  mother,  from  thy  throne, 
Look  down  and  bless  thy  child, 

Thy  child  so  sad  and  lone 
In  this  bleak  world  so  wild." 


MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY.  75 

Perhaps  the  angels  heard 

The  prayer  the  maid  had  given, 
And  entered  every  word 

Upon  the  book  of  heaven. 

God  called  her  from  this  earth, 

Where  even  Hope  was  dim, 
And  now  she  dwells  above, 

In  endless  peace  with  him. 


76  MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 


Jantocll. 

Farewell  !  I'll  shed  my  tears  for  thee 

Wherever  I  may  roam, 
And  often  they  shall  fall,  and  free, 

For  her  I've  left  at  home. 

There's  pleasure  in  a  silent  tear, 

And  oft  a  tear  shall  flow; 
And  oh !  believe  me,  hearts  sincere, 

Alone  this  bliss  can  know. 

For  truant  hearts  can  never  weep, 

Or  feel  this  joy  divine; 
But  those  which  hold  affections  deep 

Can  shed  their  tears  with  mine. 

And  every  tear-drop  in  my  eye 
Shall  bring  my  thoughts  to  thee, 

And  wring  from  out  my  breast  a  sigh, 
For  her  so  loved  by  me. 

Then  let  me  weep ;  why  should  I  cease, 
When  weeping  's  joy  to  me ; 

When  every  tear-drop  brings  me  peace 
And  loving  thoughts  of  thee? 


MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY.  77 


1'lic  brought  flrcc  an  |bg  Seat 

I've  brought  thee  an  Ivy  Leaf,  only  an  Ivy  Leaf, 
From  the  land  of  the  rose,  where  the  wild  heather 

grows, 
And  the  violet  blossoms  in  quiet  repose ; — 

I've  brought  thee  an  Ivy  Leaf. 

I'd  have  brought  thee  a  lily,  a  beautiful  lily, 
But  it  would  have  sighed,  till  it  faded  and  died, 
And  have  drooped  in  humanity's  withering  tide, 
So  I  brought  thee  an  Ivy  Leaf. 

I'd  have  brought  thee  a  rose-bud,  a  fairy-like  rose-bud, 
To  place  in  thy  hair  and  to  perfume  the  air, 
But  it,  like  the  lily,  would  fade  in  despair, 

So  I  brought  thee  an  Ivy  Leaf. 

An  Ivy  Leaf  green,  a  bright,  beautiful  Ivy  Leaf, 
Type  of  thy  heart,  and  as  pure  as  thou  art ; 
Oh  !  wear  it  forever,  love,  nearest  thy  heart ; — 
I've  brought  thee  an  Ivy  Leaf. 


is;,  7 


78  MISCELLANEOUS    rOETEY. 


Wat  <Dne  $  Site. 


Give  me  a  maiden  young  and  fair, 
A  lady  with  dark  and  silken  hair ; 
Oh,  she's  the  lady  I  love,  who  can 
Love  not  the  figure,  but  the  man. 

For  me  a  girl  forgetful  of  self, 
Who  loves  not  fashion,  dress  nor  wealth ; 
Oh,  she's  the  lady  I  love,  who  can 
Love  not  the  money,  hut  the  man. 

For  me  a  lady  with  brilliant  mind, 
Loving  as  Mary,  with  heart  as  kind, — 
And  "  long  and  loving  our  life  shall  be," 
For  she'll  find  a  lover  true  in  me. 


April  7.  L858. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY.  79 


Co 


I  think  by  day  and  dream  by  night 

Of  thee,  love,  of  thee ; 
And  none  who  ever  meet  my  sight, 
Seem  half  so  fair,  or  half  so  bright, 
To  me,  love,  to  me. 

At  noon  I  cast  my  thought  on  none 

But  thee,  love,  but  thee ; 
And  from  the  morn  till  set  of  sun , 
I  think  of  thee,  the  only  one 
Dear  to  me,  to  me. 

Life  has  its  flowers — thou  art  mine,- 

None  but  thee,  but  thee ; 
Eyes  may  sweeter,  brighter  shine, 
But  none  glance  such  rays  as  thine, 
For  me,  love,  for  me. 

In  my  prayers  I'll  be  blessing 

None  but  thee,  but  thee  ; 
To  my  bosom  I'll  be  pressing, 
Soothing,  calming  and  caressing 
None  so  loved  by  me. 


1858. 


80  MISCELLANEOUS    rOETRY. 


cuiUlt  thou  ncljcr,  ncbcr  change/ 

Wilt  thou  never,  never  change, 
Wilt  thou  love  as  well  to-morrow, 
Will  the  moments  never  come, 
When  I'll  think  of  thee  with  sorrow  ? 
Wilt  thou  never,  never  change, 
Wilt  thou  wander  from  me  never  ; 
Will  thy  smile  be  always  mine, 
And  thy  heart  be  mine  forever  ? 

Chorus. — Wilt  thou  never,  never  change, 
Wilt  thou  wander  from  me  never 
Will  thy  smile  be  always  mine, 
And  thv  heart  be  mine  forever  ? 


Wilt  thou  never,  never  change, 
Can  I  trust  the  vows  thou'rt  making  ? 
Ah  !  my  heart,  though  happy  now, 
Without  thee  would  soon  be  breaking. 
I  have  pledged  thee  all  I  have, 
I  will  play  the  truant  never — 
Will  thy  smile  be  always  mine, 
And  thy  heart  be  mine  forever '.' 

Chorus. — Wilt  thou  never,  never  change, 

Wilt  thou  wander  from  me  never ; 
Will  thy  smile  be  always  mine, 
And  thv  heart  be  mine  forever'/ 


MISCELLANEOUS    POETEY.  81 

Wilt  thou  never,  never  change, 
In  youth,  in  age,  in  sorrow  ? 
When  old  Time  has  plowed  my  cheek, 
With  his  beauty-marring  furrow — 
Will  thy  hand  be  near  to  help, 
Will  thy  heart  forsake  me  never, 
Will  thy  smile  be  always  mine, 
And  thy  love  be  mine  forever? 

Chorus. — Wilt  thou  never,  never  change, 

Wilt  thou  wander  from  me  never  ; 
Will  thy  smile  be  always  mine, 
And  thv  heart  be  mine  forever  ? 


n 


82  MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 


gun  f Abe. 

I  loved  her  not  for  Fashion, 
I  loved  her  not  for  Wealth, 

But  'twas  a  purer  passion — 
I  loved  her  for  herself. 

I  loved  her  for  her  virtue, 
I  prized  her  for  her  worth, 

Her  pleasing,  maiden  innocence, 
And  joyous,  happy  mirth. 

She  cheered  me  in  my  sadness, 
She  soothed  me  in  my  pain, — 

But  past  is  all  my  gladness, 
I'll  ne'er  see  her  again. 


*&- 


She's  now  a  saint  in  heaven, 
On  earth  we'll  meet  no  more  ; 

She  was  but  lent,  not  given, 
And  my  fond  hope  is  o'er. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY.  83 


§mtst,  $'toc  been  rolling. 

Dearest,  I've  been  roving, 
But  my  heart  is  loving 

As  it  used  to  be ; 
Now  I'm  home  returning, 
Warm  that  heart  is  burning 

With  sweet  thoughts  of  thee 

In  my  wanderings,  dearest, 
Thou  hast  been  the  nearest 

To  my  young  heart  true ; 
And  I  long  to  press  thee, 
And  with  joy  caress  thee, 

As  I  used  to  do. 

Older  hearts  may  sever, 
But  my  young  heart  never 

Can  be  torn  from  thee ; 
Thou  art  still  the  nearest, 
And  shall  be  the  dearest, 

I  can  ever  see. 


8-1  MISCELLANEOUS    rOETIlY. 


Man. 

"  Tiiv  eyes  say  '  Yes,'  but,  ah,  thy  heart, 
I  know  not  what  thy  heart  will  say ; 

Come,  tell  me,  dearest,  ere  we  part, 
If  it  would  answer  '  Nay.' ' 

"  I've  loved  thee  long,  but  ne'er  before 
Could  I  have  told  thee  till  to-day, 

But  now,  my  foolish  fears  are  o'er, 
Ah,  do  not  answer  '  Nay.'  ' 

The  crimson  burns  upon  thy  cheek, 
Thou  canst  not  drive  the  blush  away  ; 

Thy  heart,  ah,  dearest,  did  it  speak 
It  would  not  answer  "  Nay." 

I  gently  pressed  a  blushing  cheek, 
And  wiped  a  glistening  tear  away ; 

And  then,  her  heart,  I  heard  it  speak, 
It  did  not  answer  "  Nay." 


MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY.  85 


The  Martin  who  perpetrated  the  following,  deserves  to  be  shot. — Magazine. 

A  Dyer  died  and  dead  was  he  ; 

He  lived  to  dye,  and  died  to  be 

A  Dye/"  still ;  for  still  his  hair 

Was  colored  black  with  efa/e-stuff  rare  ; 

His  coffin,  too,  was  dyed  with  red, 

And  now  this  Dyer  has  died  dead. 


1857. 


86  MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 


jjlg  pgeons. 

Another  pleasant  hope  has  fled, 
Another  little  pigeon's  dead — 

My  pets  die  one  by  one ; 
I've  lost  so  many  birds  before, 
And  raised  so  few  from  my  two  score, 
With  them,  I  think,  that  I  have  more 

Of  sorrow  than  of  fun. 

One  egg  is  laid,  then  one  to  match, 
But  ten  to  one  they  will  not  hatch, 

They  break  before  their  time ; 
If  into  life  one  birdie  hies, 
He  rarely  lives  until  he  flies, 
He's  picked  and  fought  until  he  dies — 

To  live  would  be  a  crime. 

From  all  my  forty  birds  so  fair, 
I  nearly  raised  a  single  pair ; 

They  fattened  and  they  grew, — 
But  ah !  I  could  not  trust  to  fate, 
One  bird  would  die,  and  soon  or  late 
The  other  one  would  join  its  mate 

Ami  so  I  ate  the  two. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY. 

Queries  anfo  Questions. 

A    NEW    VERSION. 

Is  it  anybody's  business 

If  a  young  man  goes  to  see 
A  lady  very  homely, 

Or  a  maid  of  thirty-three  ? 
Or,  to  speak  in  plainer  English, 

That  the  meaning  all  may  know, 
Is  it  anybody's  business 

If  an  old  maid  has  a  beau  ? 

Is  it  anybody's  business 

But  the  lady's,  if  she  wears 
A  dress  much  out  of  fashion, 

Or  a  collar  full  of  tears  ? 
Is  it  anybody's  business 

But  the  gentleman's,  if  he 
Wears  a  pair  of  English  whiskers, 

Or  diminutive  goatee  ? 

Is  it  anybody's  business 

If  a  gentleman  should  choose 
To  kiss  a  pretty  lady, 

If  the  lady  don't  refuse  ? 
Or  should  the  people  worry, 

If  they  do  not  chance  to  know 
What  has  become  of  Lizzie, 

Or  of  Lizzie's  handsome  beau  ? 


88  MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 

Is  it  anybody's  business 

If  a  young  man  in  the  Fall, 
Wears  a  hat  renowned  in  Pari,-, 

Or  don't  wear  a  hat  at  all  ? 
Or,  to  speak  a  little  plainer 

So  you'll  see  what  I  am  at, 
Is  it  anybody's  business 

If  he  wears  a  Paris  hat  ? 

Is  it  anybody's  business 

If  a  bonnet's  very  small, 
Or  of  a  size  diminutive, 

Or  of  no  size  at  all  ? 
Or  if  a  pretty  female 

AVears  her  bonnet  on  her  head, 
Or  has  a  colored  waiter-man 

To  carry  it  instead  ? 

I  will  ask  one  other  question, 

And  will  then  my  task  resign, 
Is  my  business  your  business. 

Or  is  your  business  mine  ? 
Now,  if  I  mind  my  own  business 

I've  enough  work  to  do, 
And,  if  you  mind  your  business, 

It's  enough  work  for  you. 

1S5S. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY.  89 

fines  suggest  to  be  torittm  frgJ***nH**lr,  |r„  to 
<8.  $.  JtatiH.* 

When  the  orb  of  day  is  rising, 

To  give  light  to  mine  and  me, 
Should  it  be  at  all  surprising 

I  should  think,  dear  friend,  of  thee — 
When  I  tell  thee,  that  in  going 

To  my  bed  last  night  at  nine, 
I  was  all  my  thought  bestowing 

On  the  peace  of  thee  and  thine? 

Q**rpt=*  jj*]£***-j-  stopped  in  passing, 
And  you  know  how  pleased  he  looks 

When  he  sees  the  wealth  I'm  massing 
In  the  way  of  handsome  books. 


*  "  I  miss  you  in  the  morning  when  shad  is  waiting  for  somebody;  I  miss 
you  at  noon  when  the  salad  wants  dressing;  I  miss  you  in  the  afternoon 
when  I  have  nobody  to  plague  or  take  round  the  garden ;  I  miss  you  when- 
ever I  go  to  the  stable  to  see  Dick  (the  dog,  so  named);  and  when  I  go  out 
riding  behind  the  black  horse,  that  don't  kick  up  any  more  (I  think  he 
kicked  for  your  benefit) ;  I  miss  you  at  supper ;  I  miss  you  in  the  evening, 
especially  at  bed-time  (i.e.,  from  8  to  9  o'clock,  p.m.)  ;  and  I  miss  you  all  the 
hours  of  the  day  and  night  not  herein  mentioned.  I  want  you  out  of  favor 
to  me,  to  write  a  piece  of  Poetry — as  if  I  was  the  author — as  if  I  wrote  it  to 
you,  entitled,  '  I  miss  you,'  and  embody  in  it  all  I  have  written  above,  and 
any  other  sentiments  expressive  of  the  idea." — Conshohoclen,  May  18,  1865. 

j-  C*rl**  L*k***.     A  friend  of  both  parties   and  a  frequent  -visitor  at 
Mr   W**d's  house.     A  capital,  good  fellow. 
12 


90  MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 

So  to  my  Library  we  wended, 
And  discussed  a  book  or  two, 

But  our  conversation  ended, 
By  us  both  discussing  you. 

"Dick's  a  fellow  pretty  clever," 

Q**r]**  j^k***  kindly  said: 
''Yes,"  I  answered,  "but  he  never 

Goes  in  proper  time  to  bed. 
Hang  him !  when  my  eyes  are  peepy, 

And  I  scarce  make  out  to  see, 
He  is  anything  but  sleepy, 

And  talks  on  remorselessly. 

"Talks  and  talks,  until  he  utters 

Many  things  not  over  bright, 
And  I  rise  and  close  the  shutters* 

And  put  out  the  Library  light. 
Then,  my  stars!  you  ought  to  hear  him, 

Really,  Charley,  'tis  too  bad! 
But  I  cannot  say  I  fear  him, 

Though  he  scolds  like  one  gone  mad. 


"Soon  I  hush  this  little  riot, 
And  'good-night'  is  kindly  said, 

Soon  the  house  is  very  quiet, 

And  Dick's  tongue  is  stilled  in  bed. 


9  Mr.  W**d  is  as  sleepy  a  mortal  as  I  ever  met  with,  and  at  half  past 
eight  o'clock  r  u.  he  is  always  ready  foi  bed. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY.  91 

But  when  breakfast's  on  the  table, 

And  the  time  for  talking  gone, 
When  to  eat  is  all  I'm  able, 

Still  Dick's  tongue  is  talking  on." 

Thus  did  we  converse  about  you, 

But  our  tongues  you  need  not  fear, 
For  I  grieved  to  be  without  you, 

And  I  wished  that  you  were  here. 
Wished  your  kindly  face  before  me, 

Longed  to  hear  your  jokes  once  more, 
For  though  sleep  was  stealing  o'er  me,* 

I  recalled  the  scenes  of  yore. 

And  the  hours  that  we  together, 

Sweetly,  happily  have  passed, 
Came  as  bright  as  summer  weather, 

With  no  cloud  upon  them  cast. 
False,  unfaithful  friends  have  moved  me, 

Thou  at  least,  wert  ever  true, 
Some  warm  hearts  perhaps  have  loved  me, 

But  not  better,  Dick,  than  you. 

So  I  yearn  forever  for  you, 

And  I  always  wish  you  here, 
And  I  earnestly  implore  you 

To  come  back,  my  heart  to  cheer. 
Oh !  come  back,  I  miss  you  ever — 

In  the  morning,  noon,  and  night, 
And  my  little  home  is  never 

Half  so  happy,  half  so  bright, 

*  This  must  have  been  about  half-past  eight. 


92  MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY. 

As  when  you,  with  Meerschaum  lighted, 

Seat  yourself  near  mine  and  me, 
And  we  listen  rapt,  delighted, 

To  your  tales  and  poetry. 
Ah !  you  bring  the  realms  of  fairy 

Brightly  to  our  vision's  view, 
And  my  wife,  my  loving  Mary, 

Half  forgets  your  smoke  for  you. 

Do  come  back,  for  I  have  very, 

Very  many  things  will  please, 
From  the  tempting,  red  strawberry, 

To  the  exquisite  green  peas. 
Ah !  these  berries  we  have  need  of, 

And  their  like  is  rarely  found, 
They  are  berries  that  you  read  of, 

Sixteen  of  them  weigh  a  pound.* 

Do  come  back,  and  let  me  take  you 

Round  my  garden  so  near  by, — 
I  will  guarantee  to  make  you 

"Well  and  hearty,  or  you'll  die. 
If  the  exercise  don't  kill  you, 

You  will  be  a  new-made  man, — 
Come  to  Conshohocken,  will  you? 

And  we'll  do  the  best  we  can. 

So,  my  friend,  let  me  entreat  you, 

By  the  love  you  feel  for  me, 
Just  to  state  the  time  to  meet  you, 

And  I'll  drive  down  cheerfully. 

*  He  had  some  strawberry  plants  that  he  told  me  would  produce  ounce 
berries. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY.  93 

For  my  heart  is  sad  and  lonely, 

I  forever  think  of  you — 
And  I  will  be  happy  only 

When  you're  back  at  "River  View."* 

May  19,  1865. 

*  "River  View"  was  a  fancy  name  I  gave  his  place. 


94  MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 


Imputation. 

We're  all  afloat, 

In  a  leaky  boat, 
On  Life's  tempestuous  river ; 

And  ere  we  think, 

'Mid  the  waves  we  sink, 
To  rise  again,  ah  !  never. 

The  stream  flows  on, 

But  our  boat  is  gone, 
Is  wrecked  'mid  the  foaming  surges ; 

And  without  a  boat, 

On  our  backs  we  float, 
Life's  current  downward  urges. 

'Tis  hard  to  row 

This  Life's  batteau 
Up  the  stream  with  the  current  rushing, 

If  she  lose  her  name, 

She  will  sink  in  shame, 
In  shame  which  is  ever  crushing. 


MISCELLANEOUS    TOETRY.  95 


fife. 

Life  has  a  pleasing  smile  for  youth, 

And  strews  his  path  with  flowers ; 
And  as  he  strays  with  Hope  and  Truth, 

For  many  sunny  hours, — 
He  cannot  see  the  piercing  thorn, 

Which  lies  amid  the  roses ; 
He  knows  no  night,  for  all  is  morn, 

Until  his  summer  closes. 

But  winter,  with  his  icy  form, 

Bestows  his  cold  caresses 
On  many  a  youth  whose  heart  is  warm, 

And  racks  him  with  ^distresses ; 
And  night  comes  on,  and  Life  is  dark, 

And  coldly  blow  the  breezes, 
Until  at  last  the  vital  spark 

Within  his  bosom  freezes. 


96  MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY. 


%H 


Thou  art  too  cold,  too  calm,  too  real, 
To  be  my  burningjieart's  ideal ; 
To  me  thou  art  a  living  star, 
That  must  be  worshiped  from  afar. 

I  may  not  to  my  bosom  press  thee, 
I  may  not  fondle  and  caress  thee  ; 
I  cannot  feel  that  thou  art  mine 
By  every  look  and  word  of  thine. 

Souls,  feelings,  thoughts,  should  mix  together, 
Like  streams  that  meet  and  form  a  river, 
Or  Love  will  freeze,  for,  like  the  ocean, 
He  lives  on  warm  and  wild  emotion. 

Oh !  be  not  so  divine  and  saintly, 

In  thee,  Love's  fire  must  burn  but  faintly, 

So  faintly  I  can  scarcely  doubt 

It  will  but  sparkle  and  die  out. 

Be  less  an  angel,  more  a  woman, 

Be  anything  but  coldly  human  ; 

And  won  by  that  bewitching  face, 

My  heart  with  thine  will  change  its  place. 

If  Love  within  thy  bosom  lies, 
Bid  him  but  speak  through  those  bright  eyes, 
And  oh  !  with  what  wild  speed  he'll  start 
To  picture  in  those  orbs  thy  heart ! 


MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY.  97 


Cough,  cough,  cough ! 

When  will  this  racking  cease  ? 

Cough, cough, cough ! 

When  will  I  find  release  ? 

I  pine  for  dear  ones  gone, 

I  pine  for  unmade  wealth, 

And  the  dreary  hours  I  think  of  them, 

I  cough  away  my  health. 

Cough,  cough,  cough ! 

When  will  I  cough  my  last  ? 

Cough,  cough,  cough  ! 

All  earthly  peace  is  past. 

Oh  !  thou  consuming  curse, 

Thou  all-devouring  power, 

With  thee  we  are  daily  better  and  worse, 

And  we  hope  and  despair  the  same  hour  ! 

Cough,  cough,  cough ! 

What  joy  of  friends  have  I  ? 

Cough,  cough, cough  ! 

I  must  cough,  and  cough  and  die. 

Each  one  who  sees  me  now, 

Sighs,  and  sadly  shakes  his  head — 

"  'Twill  not  be  long,"  he  says,  "  or  I'm  wrong, 

Ere  our  friend  sleeps  with  the  dead." 

13 


98  MISCELLANEOUS    POETRY. 

Cough, cough, cough ! — 

Ah  !  how  painlessly  they  rest, 

Who  have  coughed  their  last,  and  gone  to  sleep 

Upon  their  Maker's  breast. 

Lord  !  when  thy  chastening  rod 

Has  done  its  work  with  me, 

Through  affliction  with  resignation  borne, 

Let  me  pass  through  all  clouds  to  Thee. 


MISCELLANEOUS   rOETRY.  99 


®0  Carrie. 

When  no  thought  nor  sense  is  mine, 

When  my  eyes  forever  close, 
When  my  hand  lies  cold  in  thine 

And  no  gentle  pressure  knows  ; 
When  this  throbbing  heart  is  stilled, 

When  I  sleep  my  wakeless  sleep, 
And  my  warm  life-blood  is  chilled, 

Wilt  thou  weep,  wilt  thou  weep  ? 

When  my  lips  return  no  kiss, 

When  my  cheeks  are  pale  and  wan, 
When  the  rapture  and  the  bliss 

Of  our  meeting,  love,  are  gone  ; 
When  the  dear  ones  o'er  my  bed 

Their  sad  watch  and  vigil  keep — 
When  I  slumber  with  the  dead, 

Wilt  thou  weep,  wilt  thou  weep  ? 

When  they  close  the  coffin  lid, 

And  the  form  which  thou  hadst  pressed, 
Is  forever,  ever  hid 

From  those  eyes  that  loved  it  best ; 
AVhen  thy  heart-felt  prayer  to  God 

Cannot  rouse  me  from  my  sleep, 
And  I  rest  beneath  the  sod, 

Wilt  thou  weep,  wilt  thou  weep  ? 


February  17,  1865. 


INDEX. 


LEAVES  OF  MEMORY. 


Lines  on  the  Death  of  E.  J., 

To  E.J 

Our  Tomb, 

It  is  not  for  Thee  I  am  Weeping, 

ToE.  J.,      .... 

To  E.J. 

Two  Little  Years  Ago, 

The  Portrait,    .... 

Where  art  Thou,  Dearest,  To-night? 

Crushed,  but  not  broken, 

To  Carrie,  (at  the  last  mortal  moment), 


PAIJE 

.     11 

15 

.    16 

17 
.     19 

21 
.     23 

25 
.    27 

28 
.     31 


RELIGIOUS   POETRY. 


Song  of  the  Righteous,       ..... 

.     35 

Oh  !  when  with  Care,  ...... 

36 

Whilst  Thou  art  by,            ....             . 

.    37 

Wake,  my  Soul,            ...... 

38 

To  Thee,  my  Saviour,          ..... 

.    39 

Take  up  the  Cross,       ...... 

41 

The  Awakening,     ...... 

.     42 

Our  Saviour's  Call,       ...... 

43 

Oh  !  Happy  He,     . 

.     44 

God's  Love,       ....... 

45 

The  Reunion,           ...... 

.     46 

Deal  kindly  with  Thy  Servant,            .... 

47 

Christ  is  Risen,       ...... 

.     48 

Each  Prayer  is  heard,              ..... 

49 

Take  me,  Lord,      ...... 

.     50 

Praise  to  God,  ....... 

51 

The  End  of  all  Thina*.       ..... 

.     52 

INDEX. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POETRY. 


Anniversary  of  Washington's  Birthday,   . 
The  Dying  Soldier,       .... 

PA<1E 

.     57 
61 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Ellsworth,  . 

.     64 

On  the  Death  of  Miss , 

66 

The  Only  Daughter,            .             .            .            . 

.     67 

On  the  Death  of  Miss . 

68 

On  the  Death  of  George  W.  Wood, 

.     70 

To  a  Mother  on  the  Loss  of  her  Daughter, 

71 

My  Birthday,           .             .             .             .             . 
Poverty  and  Pride,       .... 

.     72 
74 

Farewell,     ...... 

.     76 

I've  brought  thee  an  Ivy  Leaf, 

The  One  I  Love,     .             .            .            .             . 

77 
.     78 

To 

79 

Wilt  thou  never,  never  change  ?    . 

.    80 

Pure  Love,        ..... 

82 

Dearest,  I've  been  Roving, 

.    83 

Nay,      ...... 

The  Dyer,   ...... 

84 
.    85 

My  Pigeons,      ..... 
Queries  and  Questions,  (a  new  version),  . 
Lines  supposed  to  be  wr-tten  bv  A**n  W**d  Jr 

to  0.  D.  Martin, 

86 

.     87 

89 

Reputation,             .             .             .            .             . 
Life 

.     94 
95 

To , 

.    96 

Song  of  the  Consumptive, 

To  Carrie.    ...... 

• 

97 
.    99 

